Blood of Kings
by Christini
Summary: After Miraz's death, his son, Hartian, is left in the care of his cousin, the king. Whilst no-one can deny that the blood of kings runs through Hartian's veins, so does the blood of a murderer. Can he ever step out of Miraz's shadow?
1. A new prince

**In the book (Prince Caspian) I noticed that the fate of Miraz's son was unresolved. Some clever person in the film decided to wrap it up by getting him and Prunaprismia to walk through the door to the other world. This doesn't happen in the book.**

**This is based in the world of the books and set between the Voyage of the Dawn Treader and the Silver Chair – with references to books 4, 5 and 6. **

**The land of Narnia and (nearly) all of the citizens found lurking in the fan fiction are the work of C. S. Lewis. I created Hartian from an original idea by the aforementioned author and a few other characters are entirely my own. I'm not making any profit out of this whatsoever. Ok? Jolly good... **

_**Prince Hartian, Crown Prince of Narnia**_

Sometimes I wonder if they have any idea what it's like to be reminded each day that you're the son of a murderer? To know that you live only due to the grace and goodwill of a man who is scared to look into your eyes, lest he find the shadow of his uncle – the man who nearly murdered him - that he thinks lurks there. I see him stare at me, sometimes, and I see the mighty King Caspian X flinch when he catches the gaze of his cousin.

I was brought up to respect the man like a father, or an elder brother. I was brought up knowing that, simultaneously, I was almost responsible for his death and that he had saved my life. It was not a comfortable thought – that I ought to owe so much to him from events that I had no recollection of whatsoever. I also knew that if he were to produce no children I would be king.

Caspian, or rather, his wife, is producing a child at this very moment.

Of course, I can vividly remember the last time the queen fell pregnant. I was eight years old and had no real concept of what it meant for my future. I remember the fuss and the buzz that built up around court, the ambassadors who milled around her and the king and the occasional glance at me. No doubt inquiring as to my future, I realised later. What will happen to me now?

I remember later, the moments of silence, of waiting and adults pacing the rooms impatiently. I remember the midwives and doctors – the best in Narnia – emerge out of the queens chambers silently, shaking their heads. A baby had been born, a girl, but she was too weak to survive more than a few seconds in this harsh world. I don't blame her. If I had the choice – knowing what life had in store for me - I would never have emerged out of my mother's womb.

I used to know that I was the crown prince, no matter how hated my father was, I was the rightful successor to the throne of Narnia, but as time has passed I realise that the throne itself means little. I don't want to rule the country or wield power. I just want acceptance. I am the crown prince of Narnia – but I highly doubt that my position will last much longer.

How much longer?

I cannot bear waiting. I ought to learn patience, yet, I cannot see the point in doing so. I want to know.

_**King Caspian X, king of Narnia, Lord of Cair Paravel, Emperor of the Lone Islands **_

I never know exactly what to make of my cousin. Or, for that matter, what I ought to make of him. I want, with all my heart, to see him as a man in his own right, and to stop always thinking of him as 'Miraz's son', because the more I do, the less he becomes Hartian and the more he becomes a shadow of Miraz. And there are enough of Miraz's shadows lying around to last ten generations.

At first it was easier to ignore his relation, Hartian has a far fairer complexion, from his mother, and his feature are not so sharp and cruel. They almost have a rounded, gentle look to them, that I can sometimes recognise when I catch my own eyes in the mirror. But I've seen him angry, throwing childish tantrums first and sulks later, and I've seen the way his eyes turn dark on the inside. Perhaps I judge too harshly. Perhaps I did not judge harshly enough.

But I know that Hartian is the least of my worries.

My heart is with my wife, at this moment in time. My heart and my soul and ever other part of me that cries out to be beside her when I know I cannot. I am useless and all I can do is sit and listen to the faint cries from the room above me. What wouldn't I give for a son? A daughter, even, a child of our own so that my blood may continue to rule Narnia in a fair and just way for generations.  
There is a polite, yet slightly demanding knock on the door. I tense, waiting for news of my child. I want to know that my wife, my queen, will be safe. She is the daughter of a star and was meant to shine – not endure pain such as she must be experiencing now. I was not so scared the first time, but one doctor confided in me later that she had almost lost her fragile grasp on life.

"Enter," I invite them in, apprehensively.

To my disappointment, Hartian walks through the door. He gives a shallow bow, which I acknowledge with a short nod.

"Your majesty," he addresses me formally, "I wondered if you had any news of...?"

"I'm afraid not, cousin," I reply, shaking my head, a suspicious part of me that I have always tried to suppress poses questions about the cause for his concern, "Aslan willing, it will not be long now" I add and fall silent. We do not know what to say to each other and we drop into our respective reveries. I know not what it is that Hartian is thinking about. I only care to wonder briefly. I care about my queen.

There is another knock on the door, and, without waiting for a response, Trumpkin enters. I allow myself a small smile at the dwarf – I need his solid nature at times like this – but as soon as I see his expression I instantly fear the worse.

"What has happened?" I demand, perhaps a little too fiercely for he seems to shrink a little.

"I bring no news of the queen, but we've just had some... alarming reports from the Lone Islands." He says, gravely, and I groan inwardly. This is not a good time – he must know that, and this must therefore be of great importance.

"What news?"

"There has been word from the mer-people of an uprising amongst the men." Trumpkin appears a little cautious and I notice that his eyes glance in the direction of Hartian.

"I have always been under the impression that the men of the Lone Islands were peaceful and welcomed the return of Old Narnia." I reply, concerned, although a little distracted "I visited them only two years ago, surely..."

"There are some there that would see animal dumb and men the creatures to rule above all. There are some that call for a return of the days of your uncle."

"No part of Narnia shall ever return to the way of my childhood. Those who wish otherwise may find my response on the edge of my sword!" I speak passionately about the cause that has always stirred my heart and made me the man I am today.

"Perhaps this is not the best time, but what shall we have done with them?" Trumpkin enquires, but I see Hartian look as though he wants to speak.

_**Prince Hartian, crown prince of Narnia**_

"What about Duke Bern?" I raise my voice after being ignored the duration of our conversation, "if I remember him correctly, it would not be in his nature to let an uprising like this go unchecked. He has many loyal followers there too, has he not?"

"Of course, Hartian!" exclaims my cousin, with emotion in his voice, "this is not a good time for me. I find myself incapable of thinking straight. What of Duke Bern, Trumpkin?"

"We hear he is very much a prisoner in his own house. Poor man,"

"But they have kept him alive?" the hopeful tone in my cousins voice is apparent. I almost want to scorn at it. Something about it seems so... weak.

"So far as we know," The dwarf tells him, gruffly, "I can perhaps see them holding him as hostage."

"I am glad indeed for his survival. He did me a great service once, and I believe he will continue to be loyal to me. He is a valuable asset to this country" my cousin looks at me, pensively and continues, "what would you do in this situation, Hartian?"

"I would..." I begin my sentence having no idea what he wants me to say, for I would only ever speak knowing it would not be the wrong thing to say in front of the king, "consult others who are more knowledgeable in the art of diplomacy." I see the king give a wry smile at my answer, as though he knows I do not wish to voice my personal opinions and I add, "or I would send a political envoy to reason with the men who are guilty of this uprising and should that fail I would be forced to take further action."

"Indeed... but it is what to say to them? It was all very well when Aslan opened the door to the other world – but he neglected the Lone Islands rather terribly. It is a shame..." It is clear to both myself and Trumpkin that Caspian has other things on his mind than the Lone Islands. Hi eyes are focussed on a point that lies far beyond us and he looks weary. No doubt he has not slept all night.

"Perhaps another time would be more appropriate, Trumpkin," I suggest, although now I have voiced my opinion I realise Trumpkin will be all the more unlikely to do as I recommend. He has never liked me, him and many others, unable to see past my parentage. I admit, the feeling is mutual. For a moment I think he is going to ignore me completely – but perhaps he detects the sense in what I say. Maybe he was about to say it himself.

"We could continue once-"

Trumpkin is cut off, and he looks indignantly round to see a frenzied maid at the door. She quickly bobs two curtseys – one to my cousin and one to myself – and a respectful nod at Trumpkin.

"Your majesty, your highness... it's... a boy,"

I see Caspian's boyish excitement at the announcement and he rushes off, forgetting all etiquette. Doctor Cornelius would murder me if he saw me run about like that.

I remember my company and force a smile. It's a boy. It's over.

_**Queen Ramanda, consort to King Caspian X and daughter of a star**_

It is a boy. Oh Aslan. Oh mighty lion. A boy. My boy. My only child.

I swear I have never seen anything so beautiful and I have lived among stars, yet no celestial object could ever match the wonder and glory of a tiny, bawling child. _My_ tiny bawling child.

A boy, at long last.

Caspian pretends he cares not whether he be a boy or a girl – yet I know that in his heart he wishes for a male child.

There are no words, there can never in all eternity be any words, for the love I have in my heart for this boy. It feels as though my chest is swelling and my head is spinning and the pain that was so alive one moment has been diminished to nothingness after I hold him in my arms.

Where is Caspian? Why is he not here yet? Make him be here! Make him see his child!

As I think this I realise I am too tired to speak. Too Tired to do anything save for hold our child tight and think of Narnia and what a king this boy will be. He will be just and fair and handsome and gallant and he will be my child.

Caspian?

Is that Caspian there?

It doesn't matter. I love my boy so dearly I need no one else.

I speak honestly when I say I would go through the pain of childbirth a hundredfold for a child like the one I hold.

I have never been so happy, so proud, so joyful, so _tired_ in my life.

Dear Aslan, I have always wanted this.

Voices float through my euphoria, they say nothing of any significance. They say I need rest. They say I have done well. They say...

_**King Caspian X, king of Narnia, Lord of Cair Paravel, Emperor of the Lone Islands**_

"I am so proud of you."

_**Prince Rilian, crown prince of Narnia**_


	2. Celebrations

**Narnia = not mine. **

**After a couple of months one review made me open up some dusty old files on my computer and start to write a bit more of them. I, personally, think that this feels a little fragmented and generally a bit choppy. Maybe I need to work on multi-character narration.**

_**Prince Hartian of Narnia**_

The birth ceremony for my cousin's son – the baby that can't even think for itself, yet has already taken my place – is a reason for celebration across the land. The fawns dance all night long, the nymphs and dryads and woodland creature shall be making merry long after the sun has gone down. I too, shall be celebrating. I shall be putting on my own mask of joyfulness in the hope that no one notices my sour face and remarks behind my back about my resemblance to my father.

What do I even want? I'm not even sure I'd know what to do with the throne if someone gave it to me. Maybe it's more the concept of power that appeals to me – would I be a tyrant like my father if I were given the chance? Maybe it is better to be cast aside, to never be given the chance.

My logical thoughts do nothing to change the overwhelming resentment I feel for this Rilian. My cousin decided that Narnia had seen enough Caspians to last all of time, and now it was time to put to rest this name that connoted the iron fisted Telmarine rule, but I note how they still chose a Telmarine name, for all his fine words my cousin is one of them at heart. So am I.

_**King Caspian X, King of Narnia**_

The pressures of ruling a kingdom are those that would ruin any man without support. I shall be forever grateful for the likes of Trumpkin and Doctor Cornelius, for without them I know I should crumple. I must sort out the Lone Islands situation and organise the birth ceremony and spend time with my wife and son and look at other matters, more trivial, but still of vital importance to Narnia.

I ought to be relieved now that I have a son, but now I feel as though I have one more thing to fear. Now I know that my child is alive in this world, I want so much to protect him from anything that might come his way. He will become the greatest king Narnia has ever seen, I shall make sure of it. I shall tutor him and teach him all I know, and Aslan shall guide him.

I watch my wife prepare to make the walk down to receive His blessing and I can see that she looks tired, but proud.

I remind myself that I need to find out more about the Lone Islands, and the manner of the invasion. We have not yet received word back from Duke Bern. The mer-people, who are usually such reliable messengers, have been unable to tell me anything.

I must stop worrying. I must enjoy myself, today of all days, when we hold this feast for my son, the Crown Prince of Narnia.

_**Ramanda, Queen of Narnia**_

I have never seen the hall look so beautiful. Neither have I seen my husband look so weary. My wonderful boy, Rilian, looks up at me from my arms, where I am cradling him to take him to the altar, where we may ask for Aslan's blessing – but I am sure he must have it already. I swear no other woman's child has ever looked so radiant and good.

When the trumpeters solemnly commence their fanfare, I walk through the hall, my ladies in waiting on either side of me, perhaps to catch me if I fall from weariness. But pride makes me stand tall, as I carry my beautiful Rilian.

_**Prince Hartian of Narnia**_

I plaster a smile on my face when the fanfare starts. It doesn't have to be the end of everything. It might as well be a new beginning where I don't have to bother with politics. A new beginning where I can slide comfortably into the background and be an advisor and loving cousin towards dear little Rilian. I'm already starting to hate him.

I can feel my face twisting into a grimace, and I'm careful to stop myself there.

The queen professes to anyone who will listen that her son is the most glorious week old child to have existed in Narnia. Everyone repeats this and soon the whole of Narnia is in love with this boy child. He looks like a shrivelled piece of fruit. I can see no difference between him and any other baby – only that I must bow to this baby and address him as 'your highness,' or perhaps I could call him cousin. I wonder if that would be permitted?

Anyway, this Rilian is an ugly a thing as I've ever seen. Aslan only knows what Ramanda sees in him – her belief in his beauty is genuine, which astonishes me.

They ask the almighty Lion for his blessing at the altar, although we can never know for certain whether their murmurings have any effect. Various delegates from foreign lands make their way to present him with gifts – what use a baby only one week old has for gifts, I know not. The whole ceremony is presumptuous and a waste of time.

Finally, the diplomacy is over and a group of creatures with instruments strike up a lively tune. It is our cue to dance, and I gladly join in. Anything to take my mind off the boy will be welcome.

"Prince Hartian," a young lord, a few years my senior, catches me as I stand, "my cousin, although she is too shy to admit it, wishes for the pleasure of your company in this dance."

I don't know whether I am being mocked or flattered, so I brush him aside and move to the others my age.

_**Ramanda, Queen of Narnia**_

The music begins and they start to dance, I do not dance, I am still not well enough recovered from the birth to engage in such a strenuous activity, but instead I watch.

I can see sweet Lucie Eldon, who is the daughter of one of Caspian's most devout followers, dancing with Prince Hartian. He looks content, he is smiling and perhaps he is enjoying the company.

I can see Trumpkin, making a spectacle of himself after a few too many intoxicating beverages, and my heart warms towards to gruff dwarf who has done so much for all of us here.

I know that my husband is beside me, and I turn to look at him. I do not catch his eye, but view the profile of his head. I note the features that made me love him; the strength in his brow and the determination in his eyes. His hair appears to be thinning a little – not already, surely! – and the blonde is losing the battle against a stately grey, which I think suits him just as well. He will be handsome and my husband, Caspian, no matter if he turns green and grows horns. Well, perhaps not so handsome outwardly.

"Would you dance with me, fair queen?" Caspian turns to me and offers his hand.

"Caspian, you know full well I cannot dance in such a fragile state that I am in." Nonetheless, I take his hand, if only to reassure myself of something. He has a firm but gentle grip that is reminiscent of his rule, of his person.

"I promise I shall not dance as the frivolous young men and women do, but in a stately manner, such as befits a king and queen. Surely you would not object to that." He speaks with such mock seriousness in his voice that I find it hard to say no.

"It would be my pleasure, my king," I reply and together we stand.

_**Duke Bern, Duke of the Lone Islands**_

I am old.

The men inhabiting my house know this. They show a little compassion, which I am grateful for. I know many of these men, they are not uncivilised, nor are they prone to unnecessary cruelty. On the most part, they appear quite uncomfortable to be in my house and appear to regret taking action against their fellow man. They do not feel the same way about the beasts.

I saw them, yesterday, watching from my window, as they dragged a netted mer-man into the town square. How they tormented and tortured it until the poor creature could no longer find it in his heart to survive. How he died there and the men looked around, pleased with themselves, congratulating one another.

I can only hope that King Caspian the tenth will come to my rescue. It is my unwavering loyalty to my king that leaves me in my current situation. I have nothing to cling on to now but my belief in the young king who has done so much.

I hear the sound of guards talking outside followed by a key scraping in the lock. I had not used those locks in all the time I had been in power.

"So, you are the Duke of these islands." It is a woman's voice. I do not turn from my window to face the entrant. I will not grant her any satisfaction.

"I was." I reply, stiffly and with as much dignity I can muster. She appears to note my use of the past tense.

"You could continue to be so – should you chose to give up these ridiculous beliefs that _we_ are somehow _equal_ to _them_," the woman appeared to be unperturbed by my lack of movement, "you must know, deep down, that man possesses far superior qualities than any _animal_."

I do not speak; merely consider how long this absurd coup will last for – quickly calculating how long it will take for Caspian to send ships here to end it all. Although, I am ashamed to admit, my first and foremost thoughts go to my own wellbeing. Will I still be alive when he comes? Do I care?

I realise, with some degree of reluctance, that I possess no heroic qualities. I find myself disinclined to part with my life – I have been used to living for many years now and the more I live, the less I want the ability to do so taken away from me.

Then I think of Caspian – not our current king, but his father – and I remember how all I wanted was to serve him until I died. I remember how I stood up for him after his untimely death. I remember his brother, Miraz, always lurking in the shadows, waiting for an opportunity to strike. I remember when he found it.

"What is it you are waiting for, Duke Bern?" she asks, her tone is cruel when she speaks my name, "why do you not turn and face me?"

"I do not face you because I care not what your face looks like. From your voice I can tell that you are a woman, that you were educated on the mainland and that you were of high birth. From your words I find that you are cruel, ignorant and foolish in your beliefs."

"In that case, I shall disturb you no longer, Duke Bern, for I would not be cruel enough to rob Time of the victim he is about to take."

She leaves the room and I turn, just in time to catch the door shutting, firmly and decisively.

**A review would make me happy.**


	3. Contemplation

**Merci beaucoup pour les reviews :)**

**They made me smile and incentivise me to continue with this story, and I find that now I'm starting to enjoy it again and a lot of a half-baked plot is forming.**

**Narnia n'est pas mine. C'est le propertie de C. S. Lewis.**

**(I'm speaking franglaise parce que maintenant je fais mes french homework)**

**Anyhow – I would like to subtely nod in the direction of a certain Lucie Eldon who may or may not end up being of some importance (depending on how clichéd I'm feeling).**

_**Prince Hartian of Narnia**_

The rain is fierce on the glass windows. If I wasn't aware that it was only water, I would have expected to cut through and tear the castle apart. I can't honestly say I'd be disappointed if it did just that, preferably sooner rather than later. Perhaps rain that harsh could kill a baby if left out in it.

"You look somewhat pre-occupied, my dear Hartian," I was no one's 'dear Hartian'. The lies of the half-dwarf, my professor, had failed to fool me for years. I had private lessons with Doctor Cornelius alongside my normal schooling with the other children of the Narnian court. The king wished to ensure that my education would be extensive in order for me to, if necessary, rule wisely. Of course, such training would not be needed now.

"I think it rather a shame that my cousin is most often averse to letting me ride in such weather." I reply, shrugging off the subtle invitation from my tutor to discuss deeper my personal thoughts.

"You would forsake your personal safety for the want of a horse ride?" I watched his grey, bushy eyebrows make their way up his forehead.

"For the want of something better to do than this tedious grammar work," I retort – and it is partly the truth.

"Perhaps your feelings would be more amiable towards the prospect of arithmetic," he suggests, jovially. I give him a sardonic glance.

"I would rather spend my time on other pursuits." I reply stiffly. Maybe the rain would tear _me_ apart, should I venture out. No one actually _wants_ me here.

"Nevertheless, my prince, for until you find yourself capable of describing to me the function of subordinating conjunctions I'm afraid you shall find yourself sat in this same class room all day."

"Subordinating conjunctions?" The phrase is, regretfully, unfamiliar, and I wonder if I really have just sat through a lesson on them, or if Doctor Cornelius is teasing me again, as he always does. The subtle, gentle jibes are always there, perhaps to remind me of whose son I really am. To remind me that everything I have could be taken away so easily by the king and no one would really blame him. They would probably wonder what had taken him so long.

_**Doctor Cornelius, tutor to Prince Hartian**_

It cannot be easy for him. It wouldn't be easy for anyone to lead a life that currently skips between political decisions that could cost hundreds of lives and school work that, I am ashamed to admit, is probably of little consequence to him. It cannot help that he finds himself pressured from all sides not to be like his father – and doing this probably builds up deep feelings of resentment and that residual hatred will always be with him. I wonder, sometimes, whether those who shun him because of his father are creating the very man they fear.

He ought to spend more time with those his own age. It does not help that he takes many of his lessons privately, so that he may receive a special education should he ever become king. Caspian has had to prepare for all possibilities; it had, at first, seemed highly unlikely that they should have a child at all, let alone a son. But, Aslan willing, miracles can happen. Yet Aslan helps those who help themselves. I decide at that moment that I must speak to Caspian about his cousin. I must take it upon myself to act, for the Lion cannot be expected to solve everything by himself.

_**King Caspian X, King of Narnia**_

The respectful knock on my door disturbs me from my thoughts, and I invite them to enter.

"Doctor Cornelius, tutor to the royal court and advisor to the king," announces a page who, is merely doing his job despite how excessively irritating I find it. Perhaps I can find another job for him, where that whiny voice might actually do some good. I shouldn't be so harsh, I think to myself, as my old professor enters.

"Your majesty," The half-dwarf bows low.

"Doctor Cornelius," there is genuine warmth in my voice as I greet the man who saved my life all those years ago.

"I have heard of the events on the Lone Islands..." he began, gravely, "I wondered if there would be anything that I could do?"

"No, doctor, this is not your problem to concern yourself with. I fear that it is very much mine, from the neglect I may have shown the people over the past years."

"Caspian, there is not a creature under your reign that you have ever shown neglect to."

"Hmm," I make an indecisive noise, I believe that Doctor Cornelius puts far too much faith in me than I deserve. I try my best, I am always trying my best, but he paints a picture to me of a Narnia far greater than the one I see with my own eyes. I ought to be grateful.

"I also came to speak of Hartian."

"Hartian?" my cousin's name emerges as a groan, "What of him?"

"He is now fourteen, and ought not be trapped in a classroom."

"What would you suggest then, doctor?"

"I would recommend that he travels Narnia with one of your delegations, dealing with the everyday issues. It will help him. But perhaps it would be better to send him incognito."

"You always have far more wisdom than I shall ever have, Doctor, thank you. Do you believe it would benefit him to be sent on a trip to the Lone Isles? He has travelled there before, as part of our royal progress, many years ago, but I doubt he can remember it." Doctor Cornelius's solution seems perfect. Whilst I know I shouldn't be so doubtful I realise that this will deter him from any ambition to be king. I must protect my Rilian, and Hartian may pose some kind of a threat, however small it may be. He might be feeling resentful.

"I'm sure he will gladly go," Doctor Cornelius replies, and I sense that he is smiling to himself. I know him well enough to realise that this must have been his attention all along, although whether he was powered by honest concerns for Hartian's health or a need to get his gloomy demeanour out of his classroom, I shall never know. I would like to imagine that it is the former. I have never known my old tutor to take action from selfish motives.

_**Lucie, daughter of Lord Eldon**_

"What should I do with my life, father?" I ask, "what is there to do, now the witches have been slain and the tyrants overthrown and the giants our friends? For you gave me my name from one of the great Queens of the past, and she had battles to be fought and peace to be made – how am I supposed to live up to this name that I have been given?"

I stare at my father's cloak on its hanger. The owner is not occupying his apparel and I am both relieved and disappointed. I cannot, and have never been able to, talk to my father, which is why his clothes are often the substitute for the conversation I never have with him. Perhaps I would have been able to speak to my mother. Maybe she would have been my guide in the world that was so different from the one my father had painted me. There will always be maybes as far as my mother is concerned.

"Father, why didn't you try harder? Didn't you think of me having to grow on my own? Having to venture the great journey of life without a mother to love me and help me?" I direct a poisonous gaze at the cloak – picturing my father once again. Wishing he knew. Fervently hoping he will never.

I know I am here to do something with my life. I know I must have some greater purpose than to sit around the castle taking lessons. I am fifteen years old. There must be something more.

"Lucie?" It is not my father, for which I am eternally grateful. Aslan only knows what he would think if he caught me in his room staring at his cloak. Perhaps he would send me off to one of the special healing houses far away. Instead, I recognise the speaker as my friend, Amalandia, also one of the court children. She, too, is the daughter of minor lord supportive of Caspians rule.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Why are you doing here, Lucie? You do realise that the Queen is giving birth this very second! We're all waiting in the schoolroom for news and we were missing you!"

"I should hardly think so!" I retort, a little jokingly.

"Indeed we were – especially Lord Drinian's son!" she jibes playfully and I give a small exclamation of indignation.

"You say that only in jest, surely," I reply, "and perhaps you forget a certain fawn..."

"He was a long time ago..." she sighs.

"Near three moons, I should think!" I am indignant, "the... incident with Lord Drinian's son happened half a year back."

"I noticed you dance with Prince Hartian at the ceremony, last week," she comments, slyly, and I shake my head.

"I've hardly spoken to him all my life, Ama," I defend myself, "and I certainly don't feel _that_ way about him,"

"_My_ father probably wouldn't approve of it," she comments, blithely, "I don't think Miraz's son goes down too well with most of the Lords who remember his father. I suppose it's alright though, for those of us who don't. But if my father wouldn't like it I'm sure _your_ father certainly wouldn't."

"Ama, you talk nonsense," I say derisively, "maybe you should actually listen to what I'm saying instead of blurting things out. Sometimes I wonder if even you know what you are saying."

"Perhaps you ought to try meaningless ramblings some time."

"If I'm ever suffering from chronic boredom, I'm sure I shall. But I shan't in front of sane people."

We collapse into fits of giggles but fall silent as we hear footsteps around the corner. We straighten our backs and appear as young ladies of Caspian X's court ought to. It is sheer coincidence that the person to walk past us is Prince Hartian himself. I am stunned by the chance of it, but Amalandia remembers her manners just in time to give him a curtsey, and whilst doing so her elbow happens to come into contact with my ribs. I still haven't worked out how.

By the time he is out of our sight we've lapsed into incurable silent laughter.

"Do you think he heard us?" She gives a not entirely subtle whisper.

"Aslan willing, no," I reply, also with a hushed voice, as though we are conspirators, and, with some degree of difficulty, we walk on.

_**Prince Hartian of Narnia**_

I'm not sure why my cousin wishes to speak to me. Often he prefers to avoid me as much as possible. I would have thought that he has enough to deal with at the moment without me. Who am I to pre-empt the thoughts and wishes of the King? Only his cousin. Only the son of a murderer.

**Have I mentioned that reviews cause a big wide grin to appear on my beautiful face?**

**(N.B. Beauty is very much in the eye of the beholder, and since no one knows who I am you'll have to take my word for it :)...)**


	4. Future Plans

**It's been a long time. I've had exams. And suffered from a horrific bout of laziness. But all is well – it is summertime and I have no school for about ten weeks and I remembered about this silly little story I was writing and thought I might as well continue. I think it's a little bit shorter than the previous chapters, but anyways...**

_**Prince Hartian of Narnia**_

I am invited to speak to my cousin in his throne room, which is ever so slightly grander, more imposing and far more extravagant than the modest room he normally sits in to sort out affairs of state. I wonder if he wants to either impress or scare me. Whatever it is he's attempting to achieve, it doesn't work.

I see Doctor Cornelius standing beside him; what have they been plotting together?

Of course, the use of the throne room means etiquette must be respected to a greater degree than usual, so I bow, hiding the suspicion in my face from them.

"Prince Hartian,"

"Your majesty," I reply, "you wished to speak to me."

"Indeed I did, Hartian," he pauses, and glances at Doctor Cornelius, perhaps he is seeking reassurances, I know, better than most, that our supposedly great king is still plagued with insecurities, "Tell me, are you content with your life at the present?"

"With all due respect, your majesty, what kind of a question is that?" I am astonished. Why should Caspian care if I am happy with my life?

"We wondered if you would like to travel to the Lone Islands with one of our delegations,"

I can't believe it. Two things run through my mind simultaneously. The first is that they're finally getting rid of me and the second is that they're giving me a chance to prove myself. I don't really mind which incentive powered them, I see the opportunity to get out of the oppressive castle.

"I would be happy to do so, your majesty," I reply, all politeness.

"I am glad. We must discuss this further, at another time," he tells me, casting me to one side yet again, "perhaps over luncheon tomorrow," he suggests.

"It would be a pleasure." I reply, and we both know that that was a lie.

_**King Caspian X of Narnia**_

I dismiss my cousin and he backs out of the throne room courteously, as he has been trained. I turn to Doctor Cornelius

"How was that?" I ask, worried

"My king, you have held the throne of Narnia for near fifteen years, and you still turn to ask for approval from those unworthy to give it to you."

"You are far from unworthy," I exclaim, "and I want to be sure I'm doing the right thing," I reply, weakly, knowing there to be some truth in his words that are both kind and cutting.

"_I_ believe that you are doing the right thing, yet I cannot speak without opinion clouding my judgment of truth."

"I have always valued your opinion, my dear doctor," I say and it is true. A true king does not rule the land by himself . A true king listens carefully to his advisors and courtiers and juggles the needs and wants of the people with the needs of the country and only then can he make his decision. There is far more to being king than having your way. I consider the throne to be a responsibility rather than a gift. To have the blood of kings run through your veins is a curse rather than a blessing.

_**Prince Hartian of Narnia**_

"May I inquire as to the reason for this decision?" I politely phrase a question that I have had burning inside me ever since the King informed me that I would be leaving. We both sit on a long table, he sits at the head at I at the left hand side. The right is reserved for his queen, although she is still too tired to attend today.

"You may inquire," the king smiles, "I may or may not chose to give you an answer."

I attempt to control the scowl that flashes across my face, but to no avail.

"I thought... well, Doctor Cornelius, thought that you were getting weary of spending your life in classroom. I agreed with him – it is no life for a young man of royal blood,"

I am not entirely sure of how I ought to reply, so I smile and take a sip of the watered down wine that I had been served.  
"How is Rilian?" I ask, as I put my goblet down, and immediately wonder whether I ought to have added a title onto his name. I am never entirely sure quite what place etiquette has to play in meeting like these.

"Rilian is well, he appears to be a strong baby," Caspian smiles, "or so the queen informs me – I don't pretend to know much of these matters,"

I nod, smile and take another bite of my food. The king follows me

"Have you received any more information on the Lone Islands yet?" I change the subject yet again, hoping to find one that both of us feel comfortable with.

"We believe that the situation in the Lone Islands involves a group of rebellious Telmarine nobles and their followers who have become increasingly discontented with the restoration of Old Narnia in all parts of my lands. We hear that they are engaging in slaughter of talking animals and other creatures on a massive scale. Naturally, I must be seen to act swiftly, else the talking beasts here in Narnia may start to say that I secretly support the rebellion and begin their own uprising. As you might imagine, it all becomes ridiculously political,"

I cannot help but feel a little thrill as I realise that the King, my cousin, has chosen to confide in me. I instantly chastise myself for being taken in and fooled by his charisma.

"And what might my part be in this?" I ask

"We do not expect you personally to have to do anything about it, Hartian – you are still young. Hopefully you will be there to observe and perhaps in a few years time you may carry out diplomacy yourself."

"I look forward to that," I say. Do I look forward to it? I'm not sure if I have much interest in diplomacy. It's all old men talking and I care little for either.

"I have arranged for a meeting with Lord Rendon, the captain of the ship that you will sail on, in two hours,"

_**Lord Rendon, Captain of the Eastern Sun**_

I have seen Prince Hartian before, from a distance, at banquets and feasts, but I have not yet held a conversation with him, nor have I been close enough to observe Miraz's son from close quarters. He does not strike a particularly imposing figure. I note his fair complexion immediately as one that will redden and burn when exposed to the elements, unlike his cousin, the king, who turns a healthy tan. However, he is of a decent height and a reasonably strong build. I judge that, if permitted, he would fare quite well physically on board.

"Good afternoon, Lord Rendon," the prince greets me formally, with a slight smile on his face, and I give a shallow bow. He responds with a nod of acknowledgment, carefully done. I realise that this is a boy who has been raised for life at court, and there is no way of telling how he will fare mentally with life at sea.

I had harboured doubts about accepting this task from the moment the king first spoke to me about it. The responsibility involved with taking care of the former crown prince is an immense task – and the thought of what kind of punishment might fall on me if I were to fail in my duties frightens me, and I am not a man easily frightened. In addition to this, the prince is fourteen, nearly fifteen. Boys of that age are always difficult, contrary and argumentative for argument's sake. When these concerns come to mind I always try to remind myself that he is a prince, that he is of the same blood as our beloved king – and of the murderous tyrant that left all Narnia trembling in his presence.

I was but sixteen when Miraz became king – old enough to have opinions but far too young to have any attention paid to me when I chose to express them. My father, on the other hand, loved the sound of his own voice – especially when that voice spoke in favour of fair Caspian. It was only to be expected that one dark night, my father disappeared for good. I do not want to blame Hartian – but I know that there is a deep residual grudge that I cannot seem to shake off.

"Good afternoon, your highness," I reply, finally.

"I understand that I am to be a passenger on your next voyage to the Lone Isles – I hope that I am not too much of an inconvenience," He seems to be a reasonably charming young man, although perhaps not instantly likable, as his cousin was.

"Not at all, it is an honour to have you on board,"

_**Prince Hartian of Narnia**_

Lord Rendon and I continue to exchange pleasantries, and I do my best to maintain the facade of an eager young prince, and what wouldn't I give to be able to fall into that role? Years of practise have left me capable of imitating my cousin's easy style and manners, but inside I know that I am not, and can never be, that golden prince. Every day I wonder whether I am slowly turning into the man that they all fear I might become. Lord Rendon is, perhaps, a little better than most. He acts like an honest man, the sort that are able to thrive in my cousin's court, but would be crushed anywhere else.

"We shall set sail in three days time," Lord Rendon tells me. _Three more days_. Three more days to live through and then I can escape the ever watchful eye of my cousin and his loyal and stifling courtiers. Three days to wait for that is three days too many.

_**Lucie, daughter of Lord Eldon**_

We hear that Prince Hartian is going to depart for the Lone Islands in three days time, with a diplomatic envoy. It's not an official trip, and so there will be no large ceremony to bid the prince goodbye, but word spreads around court fast. There is something about him that's caught my attention. I don't know why and I couldn't describe why for the life of me. The funny thing is, no one really notices him. He's always just been _there_. Maybe standing in the corner, sulking, or sitting by the king and queen with a fake smile on his face, he's never the centre of attention. He's a puzzle, a riddle. And now he's going, it's going to be almost impossible for me to solve it. Although I'm not entirely sure if I want to.

**I've been trying to cut down on the depressive 'everyone hates me, nobody likes me' silliness from dear Hartian, but he doesn't seem to want to shut up. I wish he'd just go away. **

**Anyway, a review or two wouldn't go amiss...**


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